


Swordplay By Lamplight

by Crazy_Dumpling



Category: Chìbì | Red Cliff (2008)
Genre: China, First Time, Historical, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-20
Updated: 2009-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-04 16:53:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crazy_Dumpling/pseuds/Crazy_Dumpling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zhou Yu has a guest to dinner. Conversation and more ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swordplay By Lamplight

**Author's Note:**

> Set after both Red Cliff movies (I refuse to believe that the Western cut was released.)

“Thank you for joining me, General.” Zhou Yu offers his winecup in a salute, “I am sorry that I have taken so long to invite you to dine with me, but there has been so much to see to since we last had the pleasure of meeting. I am glad that you’ve come.”

His guest smiles and holds his own cup aloft, “I was honoured by the Viceroy’s invitation to share his meal. The wait was inconsequential.”

Zhou Yu waves a hand carelessly, “Don’t be so polite! We both needed some time off, after all. I hear you’ve been busy drilling your troops while we’re trying to clear up the mess Cao Cao made over at Red Cliff.”

“My Lord Liu thinks the soldiers need a rest, but it has been almost a month since the battle, and our soldiers need to be constantly vigilant,” Zhao Yun says. “Besides, Zhang Fei and Guan Yu have been seeing to the reconstruction efforts; I felt that my time would be spent more constructively preparing the soldiers to be ready the next time an attack comes.”

“Such dedication is to be commended, of course. Liu Bei is lucky to have such a general at his side.”

Again, Zhao Yun lifts his cup, acknowledging Zhou Yu’s praise with a slight quirk of his lips. “You flatter me, Viceroy.”

They’ve been drinking alone for a few hours now, the remains of their dinner having been cleared away long ago, and the servants dismissed. Xiao Qiao left soon after, murmuring an apology to Zhao Yun and a reminder to her husband not to drink too much. Zhou Yu is irritated to find that Liu Bei’s best warrior is still apparently sober and in charge of his senses. It is unnatural, surely. Wine is the lubricating fluid that binds men together; it allows a less-guarded person to forget his inhibitions and reveal his secrets. Or so the saying goes. Zhou Yu knows that this is high-minded garbage, of course. His trickery of Jiang Gan is proof of this. But Zhao Yun’s reticence extends to his conversation and the manner in which he holds himself, not just to his drinking. The man seated facing Zhou Yu is too polite, too stiff, too official. He wonders if Zhao Yun would forget his propriety if the qin were brought out, but Zhao Yun is no Zhuge Liang who sees subtleties in every situation and delights in teasing out the nuances of a harmony. Nor is he Guan Yu, content to recite poems at the moon whilst drinking wine, or Zhang Fei who controls his fiery temper with the controlled ritual of calligraphy.

No, Zhao Yun is a simple man, apparently. He is a soldier, first and foremost, and loyal to his master. He is an excellent warrior and a caring general who is always alert to the needs of his men. This is observable by all who have met him and even by those who have not. But somewhere in this loyal soldier and unceasing worker is a man of flesh burning with his own private desires and needs, Zhou Yu is sure. And all men reveal themselves eventually. The trick, of course, is how to effect this revelation in such an upright man so much in control of himself. How to strip Zhao Yun for a moment of his obligations to others and of his sense of duty. Certainly this quality of putting others before himself is a one to prized. He has no doubt Confucius would be happy to call Zhao Yun a complete man.

Zhou Yu is not satisfied with Zhao Yun as the rest of the world sees him, however. How could he be? Ever since he first laid eyes on the other man in the Shu camp, inviting his troops to attack him with abandon, Zhou Yu has been burning to see if the perfect facade of Zhao Yun’s iron-clad self-control could be penetrated. There have been passing moments when Zhao Yun’s glances have lingered too long, but those have been few and Zhou Yu can count them with the fingers on one hand. Infrequent though these stolen glances are, they are significantly instructive to a strategist like Zhou Yu. Not many people would have noticed the veiled look in Zhao Yun’s eyes, or indeed understood it enough to discern its meaning, but Zhou Yu comprehends it well enough. That is why, if the wine is not helping to set Zhao Yun at ease, he must find some other way of coaxing the man out of the general. He gets to his feet a little unsteadily from his perch at the low table they are seated at, and walks to his study to retrieve his sword.

“Ah! Enough of this insipid drinking. It is all very good for young scholars waiting to take exams to drink and make up poems about lost love, but I see you require something more diverting, General!”

From inside the study he can hear Zhao Yun’s soft protests about not wanting to trouble his host, but Zhou Yu concentrates more on finding the sword and the other package he is looking for. He finds it placed on top of his military training manuals, still covered in the protective silk bag it was presented in. He brings both back to the open dining area. It is about the hour of the Rat, and the house sits in stillness, the only sounds are that of Zhou Yu’s footsteps and of the wind outside, blowing through the mountains nearby. Zhou Yu sets the package down next to the table and presents Zhao Yun with the sword first, holding it in two hands. The other man takes it with an appreciative smile and slides it easily from its ornamental scabbard.

“It is a most magnificent weapon, Viceroy,” he says, his voice reverential. Zhao Yun swings it a few times, slashing at an imaginary opponent, feeling the sword’s weight in his hand. His strikes, though leisurely, are precise in their movement and Zhou Yu has no doubt that Zhao Yun could disembowel an enemy with scarcely more effort than he is exerting at the moment. “May I?”

“Of course; I brought it out for such a purpose. Please.”

It is all the encouragement Zhao Yun needs. He takes the sword through a number of furious paces, slicing and stabbing at the air like a irate tiger, with the intent expression of a man at prayer. The sword flashes, reflects the light of the lamps set around the room, illuminates his eyes. The only sound is of metal rushing through the air and the wind in the trees in the courtyard. Zhao Yun’s breathing is even. He is hardly breaking a sweat and yet the sword becomes a furious whirl of steel around him, an indistinct blur. It is a graceful display, though Zhou Yu suspects Zhuge Liang’s qin recital overpowers any other performance in terms of sheer sophistication. Zhao Yun is a warrior, however, and this is a warrior’s dance, full of martial beauty and diligently refined skill honed through thousands of hours of practise. There may be none of the subtlety that Zhuge Liang can coax from the qin, but Zhao Yun’s movements hold a vitality that the qin cannot quite counter, a fury that is like the roar of the tiger in comparison to the soft whistle of a songbird.

And of course, there is the danger inherent in such a performance. Beautiful though it is, the sword dance is, in the end, a dance of injury and death. Zhao Yun may look like a serene immortal at the moment, but Zhou Yu has seen first-hand just how those hours of practise have turned him into a frightfully efficient killer. It is this edge of danger that thrills him, makes him want to strip the soldier from the man. Zhao Yun finally ends the routine, his breathing only a little heavier than when he started. He puts the sword back in the scabbard that Zhou Yu holds out and smiles at him, a little bit more easily now. Good. That is some progress. Zhou Yu hands him the package he brought from the study and pours a cup of wine for himself.

“A wonderful display,” he says, “you move like liquid mercury.”

“Thank you. May I ask your honour what this is?”

“A gift. I noticed that your sword saw much action in our last battle and wanted to present you with a newer weapon, if you’d like.”

A shadow flits across Zhao Yun’s face as he resumes his seat opposite Zhou Yu, who tops up his cup with more drink. Their fingers brush as he hands the cup over, and Zhou Yu is pleased to note that Zhao Yun does not flinch or try to pull away from this brief physical contact, though he does not drag it out for longer, accepting the cup with a smile and sipping at it before turning his attention to the silk-covered object in front of him. This he removes carefully to reveal the carved wooden box underneath.

“Viceory Zhou, this looks too precious a gift for me to accept,” Zhao Yun says stoutly, as one would expect, but opens the box anyway. Zhou Yu watches him and is gratified to see the other man’s eyes widen slightly as he lifts the sword out of the box almost reverentially. It is beautiful; Zhou Yu made sure of it when he sent to the swordsmith with a preliminary sketch for it. The blade is undecorated, unlike his and Sun Quan’s weapons, the handle is wound with black cord and the guard has been inlaid with jade. It is also a little heavier than Zhou Yu’s own sword, made for a larger man such as Zhao Yun to swing effectively with a minimal amount of effort. The scabbard is a simple black design with a stylized dragon in red paint running down the length of it.

“I see you like it,” Zhou Yu comments, watching as Zhao Yun tests the weight of the sword and checks its balance. “Please accept it as a token of Wu’s thanks for your efforts in the war with Cao Cao.”

He pauses, watches as Zhao Yun stands to try this sword out in the open space of the dining area. “And my own personal gratitude for what you have done for my family and I.”

His words catch Zhao Yun off-balance through a slashinScg movement. Zhao Yun almost stumbles, but checks himself in time. He slides the sword back into its scabbard and turns to look at Zhou Yu, his eyes dark in the lamplight.

“You saved my life, Viceroy Zhou. I was repaying the debt that I owed to you; there is nothing to thank me for, much less any obligation for you to offer me such a precious gift as this.”

Zhou Yu smiles. “Most people, General, would simply thank their host for such a gift. Others might protest at the expense, but only you would query the exact terms of my gratitude. You might have a point, but I insist, and since you are my guest I think you must accept or risk offending my hospitality.”

Zhao Yun says nothing. He simply sets the sword back down on the table and turns away, his back rigid and tense. His breathing is much the same as before, but it takes a observer with Zhou Yu’s eye for detail to notice the slight hitch in the way his chest rises and falls.

“Come now,” Zhou Yu says, setting down his cup and moving from his perch at the table to stand behind Zhao Yun. “It is only a gift, not anything as dangerous as the love token of some infatuated maiden.”

Silence greets this statement. Zhao Yun turns his head fractionally to look behind him, but his gaze is directed at the sword, not Zhou Yu. They don’t say anything for a long while, and the winds outside grow louder, rising to low moans. The gusts pull strands of hair free from Zhao Yun’s topknot, which he ignores.

“Love tokens from women are not as dangerous as what you present me with, sir. You mean to trap me.” Zhao Yun finally turns around to look Zhou Yu in the eye, his expression troubled.

“How do I propose to do that, General? You and I know that you are quite capable of fighting your way out of any situation you find to your disadvantage.”

“There you go with your words!” For the first time, Zhou Yu sees a flash of anger in Zhao Yun’s eyes, hears the edge in his voice. “You weave your words around me like silken knots, so that though I find them comfortable enough at first, you will eventually strangle me with them!”

Finally. It is what Zhou Yu has hoped for - the first sign of emotion, of passion, from his opponent. It thrills him. “What is this trap you think I am setting for you, Zilong? Don’t you think I am well aware of your intelligence? Do you really think that I would think so lowly of you?”

This stops Zhao Yun for a beat. Then he shakes his head. “I speak not of outright hostility, sir, as you know.”

It is time, Zhou Yu thinks, to move things along. “No. You are being as vague as you accuse me of being, General. Pray be more direct.”

“A man cannot have more than one master, Viceroy Zhou.” Zhao Yun states flatly, “My loyalty to Lord Mayor Liu is my topmost priority. It must be.”

“I think my lord Sun Quan is well aware of this fact.”

“I am not speaking of Sun Quan!” All along they have been speaking in a low whisper, but now Zhao Yun raises his voice impulsively for a moment. Then he collects himself. “I am not speaking of the Duke of Wu. I am speaking of you, as you are well aware.”

And there it is. Time they stopped beating around the bush. Zhao Yun looks scandalised - presumably he has only just admitted this to himself, too.

“I ask for nothing that you are not willing to give, Zilong.” Zhou Yu scents his prey’s weakness now, moves closer. “However, if you insist on being pedantic, may I remind you that your debt was to me, and not my wife or our child. Therefore, if you would like to remain free of any obligations to me, it would be better for you to realise that you still owe me a favour.”

It is a wild shot in the dark, like an arrow loosed right at the moment the tiger’s teeth are almost at one’s throat, but these shots sometimes hit their target. Zhou Yu watches as Zhao Yun wrestles with some internal demon and gives up.

“I will accept the sword,” he says flatly.

Good. Zhou Yu nods and Zhao Yun brushes by him, the heat radiating off his body. And now he must put the next part of his plan in motion quickly, or lose his moment.

“And I, General Zhao, owe you something as well.” He must move now, Zhou Yu knows. There is too much between them to ignore. Not just the exchange of glances and looks, but also the shared experience of battle has driven them together, especially during that last, desperate push to rescue Xiao Qiao from the hands of a deranged general. He has saved Zhao Yun’s life, and in return the other man saved his family. Zhuge Liang might be the brains of Liu Bei’s army, but the Shu generals are its heart, none more so than the man in front of him. A man who loves the people easily but finds it hard to love any one individual. A man who denies himself for the wellbeing of others. Confucius would love such a man for his selflessness.

Zhou Yu finds it intoxicating. Without any more words he takes fistfuls of Zhao Yun’s robes before he can pass by, and kisses the other man soundly. Zhao Yun moans in surprise, and Zhou Yu slips his tongue past Zhao Yun’s lips. All or nothing. There is a pause whilst Zhao Yun obviously takes the situation in, and then his body tenses and he pushes at Zhou Yu’s shoulders.

“No!” He hisses, pulling away with an obvious effort. “This is wrong! Your wife sleeps not far from here and you would still try to seduce me?”

“Seduce you? Like some village girl?” Zhou Yu sniffs. “Hardly. I offer only what I thought you wanted, General.”

Zhao Yun looks away and Zhou Yu decides it is time to press his advantage. “Do you deny it? After all that has passed between us, you still keep me at arm’s length, as if I’m some sort of serpent you fear. I am not stupid, General, and I do not think that of you so please do not insult my intelligence. I have seen the way you look at me when you think I am not aware of it. You are so careful as well to hide these feelings, Zilong, but not careful enough. Yes, you might fool your Lord Mayor and the rest of the generals. You might fool the duke of Wu, and perhaps even Zhuge Liang has not noticed, but I am not them.”

He steps closer, places a hand on Zhao Yun’s arm. “I only noticed because I feel the same as you do; I offer you tonight what I can feel you wanting. Only one night, if you wish, and that is all. But you are free to leave, of course, and I will send for a horse immediately if you feel that is what would make you happy. I will accept this, naturally. But I only ask that you are sure that it is what you want. Not what you feel you should do. None of this obligation to myself or any other man. You give so much of yourself to others, General. Let me, at least, give something back to you.”

There is an even longer silence, and Zhao Yun will not look at Zhou Yu, but does not make him remove his hand, and Zhou Yu can feel the tension in his muscles. Finally, as the wind gusts build in their fury, he looks at Zhou Yu, and something in his eyes softens, gives way.

“So?”

“You use so many words to say such a simple thing. But I will stay,” Zhao Yun mumurs.

“Wonderful,” Zhou Yu says, sincerely. “There is a guest room this way.”

He leads the other man to the room in a quiet wing of the house, already set up in anticipation of tonight and locks the door. Zhao Yun waits for him to finish, and then does not hold himself back any longer, sweeping Zhou Yu to the bed where they tousle with fingers and lips, tongues and teeth, each trying to divest the other of their suddenly restrictive robes which fall to the floor in a flutter of white and grey and blue. After a while, Zhou Yu manages to straddle the other man, his thighs pinning Zhao Yun in place, a triumphant smile playing on his lips. It is his house, after all.

The grin Zhao Yun flashes him in return is unguarded by his normal restraint. It is a hunter’s smile, full of teeth, and Zhou Yu thinks that he might have slightly underestimated his opponent. It is too late to reformulate his strategy though; and a good general always thinks on his feet and makes the best of the situation at hand. The problem with this plan is that Zhao Yun has managed to roll on top of him again, and has his arms pinned above his head with one hand whilst the other slides down Zhou Yu’s body to find his cock. This has the unfortunate effect of clouding Zhou Yu’s thoughts while his body is too busy responding to Zhao Yun’s firm, insistent strokes. The general’s palm, with its callouses from endless drills with sword and spear, is rough, though gentler than Zhou Yu was expecting, and it is all he can do to keep from crying out as Zhao Yun plants bruising kisses along the length of his neck. He moans instead, arches upwards like a cat, and it is met with an answering growl from the man on top of him.

Zhou Yu wanted to see the man behind the heroic General Zhao, to discover what kind of lover he’d be. He has his answer now as Zhao Yun releases his hold and curls his fingers into Zhou Yu’s hair as he strokes him to climax, selfless as always. They kiss, a hard, desperate kiss, tongues sliding together, their breath mingling in the cool night air, and a plan comes to Zhou Yu’s mind. Before Zhao Yun can finish, he lashes out, catches the other man’s wrist to make him stop.

“General,” he breathes, noting with pleasure the confused look on Zhao Yun’s face, “have you ever played Young Boy Riding His Steed?”

Without waiting for an answer he pushes at Zhao Yun shoulders until he is sitting with his back almost touching the wall behind him. Zhou Yu moves forward for a kiss, taking Zhao Yun’s face in his hands, kissing until the other man makes a sound of frustration in the back of his throat and lunges forward. Zhou Yu is faster, though, and pulls away, a warning hand on Zhao Yun’s chest.

“Torturer!” Zhao Yun hisses, his dark eyes alight and his hands already seeking out Zhou Yu’s waist again. Indeed? A smirk comes to Zhou Yu’s lips as he recalls the several nights he spent stroking himself furiously after watching one of Zhao Yun’s martial performances in the Shu parade square and his resolve to stick to his battle plan becomes firmer.

“Quiet, Zilong. Move back a bit more.” Zhou Yu is gratified to see Zhao Yun obey, and he wets his lips as he anticipates his next move. Taking one of Zhao Yun’s hands, he slides fingers into his mouth, sucking and licking like a boy with an ice-block on a summer’s day. The reaction he gets, a half-growl, half-mewl of protest, stokes his arousal and he pauses to lick a trail down to Zhao Yun’s palm, tonguing gently at each hard callous he finds.

“Enough!” Zhao Yun’s voice is hoarse. “You are a demon with plans to steal my soul, aren’t you! Admit it!”

“Perhaps I am,” Zhou Yu replies, releasing Zhao Yun’s hand, “in which case I intend on making my victim scream as loudly as possible while I do it.” He studies the situation before him and decides on the proper plan of attack. Bracing one knee against the bedchamber wall, he sits down between Zhao Yun’s thighs, brings his hand behind the other man’s mouth and draws him into a kiss. It is slower this time, more sensual and a low purr begins in the back of Zhao Yun’s throat as Zhou Yu bites down gently on his lower lip. Then he stops, pulls away from the kiss as Zhao Yun moves closer.

“I see what you are playing at, Demon Viceroy,” Zhao Yun whispers. He spits once into the palm that Zhou Yu was attending to before and strokes himself, then he pulls the other man against himself, hard. “Ready?”

“Yes,” Zhou Yu mutters. There is a heat rising in his belly, an aching need that is growing stronger by the second. But Zhao Yun does nothing more, simply studies him. “What! What are you waiting for!”

“What do you want, Viceory Zhou?” Zhao Yun asks him, a mocking tone in his voice. One of his arms is wrapped around Zhou Yu’s waist while the fingers on his other trace a slow, burning path along Zhou Yu’s inner thigh. “What would you like me to do?”

“Damn you!” Zhou Yu bites out, he reaches to knock Zhao Yun’s fingers out of the way but before he can do so the other man pinches the skin of his thigh, sending a wave of pleasurable pain through him that makes Zhou Yu arch back and moan.

“Do you want me to fuck you, Viceroy?” Zhao Yun’s voice is rough now, heavy with lust but still unwaveringly in control. “Do you want me to take you as gently as a man takes a virgin? Or as roughly as a pimp with his whore?” His fingers continue their journey up Zhou Yu’s thigh, linger at his straining cock, and slide down past his balls, probing his entrance gently.

Zhou Yu isn’t quite sure where this sadistic tyrant came from. In fact, he isn’t so sure if this man and the quiet, refined Zhao Yun he invited to dinner are one and the same person. But then one finger breaches him, curls upward, and suddenly he doesn’t really care.

“Ah!” He moans, his fingers digging into Zhao Yun’s neck. He tries to push himself nearer but Zhao Yun’s grip on his waist tightens, holds him in place. A second and third finger join the first and Zhou Yu has to remember not to scream as they press upwards, searching for that elusive spot.

“Patience.” The fingers scissor, stretch him, and Zhou Yu almost howls in frustration when Zhao Yun stops his motions to pull away.

“Tell me,” Zhao Yun says earnestly, moving closer so their lips are almost touching, “tell me what you want, Viceroy Zhou. I want to fuck you the way you want me to.”

With a growl, Zhou Yu concedes defeat. He dips his head forward and closes the distance between them, stifling any further words with his lips. Before Zhao Yun can pull away this time, though, he takes hold of the other man’s head in his hands, fingers winding in the hair that has been pulled loose from Zhao Yun’s topknot. Vaguely he feels Zhao Yun’s fingers on his hips and braces himself.

Then Zhao Yun is pushing into him, hot and wet, stretching him wider than he has been in a long while. Zhou Yu screams into Zhao Yun’s mouth, and his howls are swallowed eagerly as Zhao Yun’s tongue slides against his. Zhou Yu’s hips are working of their own volition now, and he braces both feet against the wall to allow Zhao Yun to penetrate him more deeply. There is a shuffle as they rearrange themselves and Zhou Yu breaks his hold on Zhao Yun’s hair. It’s been too long since he’s indulged himself in this - the honest sexual exchange between comrades, and he’s forgotten how good it feels to be taken like this. For all of Xiao Qiao’s sweet softness there is something about the savage strength and directness of Zhao Yun’s caresses that is frighteningly addictive.

“Damn you,” he mutters, throws his head back as Zhao Yun leans forward to nip at his collarbone, “just fuck me!”

And then he forgets himself. His hips try to match the steady rhythm of Zhao Yun’s thrusts, moving quicker and quicker as Zhao Yun begins to lose his iron-clad self-control. The scent of sex and sweat fills the air and Zhou Yu is vaguely aware of the wind outside rising to a howl as the pressure of Zhao Yun’s grip on his hips increases. He presses his lips against Zhao Yun’s again and kisses him with the hunger of a starving man, not bothering to stifle the moans that rise in his throat. For his part, Zhao Yun is leaving bruises on Zhou Yu’s hips, and he makes the sounds of a hunting tiger as he tries to devour Zhou Yu with each successive thrust. The world outside seems to shrink, grow claustrophobic and Zhou Yu finds it hard to breathe, harder to think, as Zhao Yun thrusts into him again and again and again, his timing more erratic now than ever. A scream builds in the bottom of Zhou Yu’s throat and suddenly the world collapses around him as his body arches up in the throes of his climax. With an effort he pulls his mouth away from Zhao Yun’s and gasps for air. Vaguely, he feels Zhao Yun stiffen underneath him and come with a low groan, warm wetness in the space between them.

Silence, except for the gusts of wind outside, hammering against the boards of the house. The lamplight flickers wildly when the draughts seep through any gaps they find in the wall. Zhou Yu takes a deep breath, winces a little as he disentangles himself from Zhao Yun. They lie side-by-side, dispensing with cuddles and kisses that are more suited to younger lovers. Instead, Zhou Yu tugs one of Zhao Yun’s hands free and compares their palms, tracing the lines with the fingers of his other hand.

“You have a long life-line,” he tells Zhao Yun. “Though it does not seem as though you will be fathering any children this year.”

Zhao Yun chuckles and pulls his hand back. “You can read fortunes as well as formulate strategy. No wonder the Sun family prizes your services so much.”

“Ah. I only wish I knew as much as your venerable Kong Ming.”

“Don’t be jealous; you know how to be a soldier, which he has no experience of. In war sometimes charging into battle with your men makes the difference between winning and defeat; you know this. Your men depend on you for such support.”

Zhou Yu smiles at the compliment. Then he glances at Zhao Yun and his grin grows wider.

“So, the perfect General Zhao finally shows a more human side to his personality. I think I’m going to have to come up with an excuse so Xiao Qiao does not go asking questions about the marks you left on me.”

A snort. “And the ever-patient Viceroy Zhou is not quite as patient as he would like to think. You are wise to hide it in front of the Chief Strategist.”

“I am patient enough,” Zhou Yu tells him, “when I am not being held against my will by a villain.”

“Villain?” A hand slides around Zhou Yu’s waist now, pulls him closer. “I’ll thank you not to malign my name with lies when you offered no complaint earlier. You will have to do better than that, Viceroy.”

“Oh, I intend to.” Without any warning, Zhou Yu rolls on top of Zhao Yun. His hands reach up, undo the length of cloth ribbon that binds his topknot. This he uses to tie Zhao Yun’s wrists above his head. “It is time I avenged my loss just now, General.”

Zhao Yun smiles. “As you wish, Viceroy.”

“Yes,” Zhou Yu says tightly. “It is.”

***

General Zhao is gone when Xiao Qiao rises the next morning. Zhou Yu tells her that the Shu camp is planning to move to their newly appointed province of Jing in two weeks and says that the General had to leave in order to help Liu Bei in seeing to the logistics of the move. She nods and sets about brewing tea.

“He is tied to his work, day and night,” she observes, toasting tea leaves while she waits for water to boil. “A shame he could not stay to breakfast. Did he like your gift?”

“Yes. He took it with him.”

If Xiao Qiao notices any pause in her husband’s reply, she does not remark on it. Instead, she hands him a peach from the garden outside. Clad in a simple robe of off-white, Zhou Yu thanks her with a smile, and she notes with some concern the dark circles underneath his eyes.

“You look tired. Did you two not sleep at all last night?”

“A little. His company was so diverting we ended up talking later than I expected.”

Xiao Qiao frowns, lays a hand on Zhou Yu’s cheek. “Be careful you do not repeat this too often. Sun Quan needs you around to advise him and will not be happy if you are sick. Will the general be back soon?”

“I have insisted upon it,” Zhou Yu tells her. In his hands he holds a cloth ribbon of deep blue, his forehead lightly creased in thought.

Outside, the wind stirs the leaves in the courtyard once, and then falls silent, as if expecting the promise of more gusts to come.

-End-


End file.
